IHOP
by fangsallmine1123
Summary: "International House of Pancakes? This place should be called the International House of Uncomfortable Aftermath. IHOUA. Actually, no, that doesn't really work, does it?" Fax. A lost chapter of The Final Warning. One-shot. [Disclaimer: I do not own Maximum Ride. All rights reserved to James Patterson. No infringement or copyright intended.]


**IHOP **

**Summary: "International House of Pancakes? This place should be called the International House of Uncomfortable Aftermath. IHOUA. Actually, no, that doesn't really work, does it?" Fax. A lost chapter of TFW. **

**A/N: Okay, one reason I'm writing this one-shot is because it won't leave me alone.**

**Another is because I love writing awkward situations. **

**The third is because…if I'm being honest, I'm pushing off writing **_**Choices**_**. Yeah, I know. Slacker me. **

**Consider this a hidden chapter of **_**The Final Warning**_**. After Fang kissed max on the dock, and then Dr. M woke her up and they went to breakfast - this is their breakfast. **_**Fun**_**!**

**Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure if JP had a penname on here, it wouldn't be **_**fangsallmine1123**_**. Then again, I don't know his life. So who am I to say for sure? Anyways, I do not own Maximum Ride or the characters in the story. But you knew that. **

**I guess I should give you the excerpt, in case you don't have a book on hand. You rookie. **

**Excerpt from TFW (beginning of chapter 14): **

_**So there you have it. I was every warning headline in every teen magazine. "Are you pushing him away? How to get him closer!" "Tired of being tomboy? How to access your inner vixen!" "Not ready for a relationship? Here are 10 ways to tell!" I'm guessing one way to tell would be freaking out over a simple kiss, streaking off in the night, then lying awake in bed until dawn, tortured by emotions you don't even recognize. I don't know - seems like a clue. **_

_**When my mom patted my shoulder to "wake" me up in the morning, my eyes were dry and gritty. I had gotten about twenty minutes of sleep. I was dreading facing Fang, and wondering if he was mad, hurt, or what. Then Mom said, "Want pancakes? There's an IHOP next door," and my day started looking up. **_

MAX

Do you remember when I said that my day started looking up at the mention of food?

I meant to say that for, like, five seconds, I didn't feel _absolutely miserable_.

Five seconds is a lot shorter than you think.

Now, though, I'm standing next to the others outside and Fang and Iggy are the only ones we're waiting on. I seriously want to skip out on the pancakes and crawl back into bed and forget everything.

But before I can manage to explain why I'm not hungry anymore, Iggy and Fang exit the boy's room and my eyes glue themselves to the floor because there's no way I'm making accidental eye contact with _him_. Not at eight in the morning. It is too early for _whatever _I'm going to see in his eyes.

"Yes! I love pancakes!" Nudge exclaims as we near the restaurant. I shoot a glance at Fang, who is walking a bit behind the rest of us with Ig and Gazzy. I grit my teeth as I see how stiff and closed off he is. Just what I need - more drama. International House of Pancakes? This place should be called the International House of Uncomfortable Aftermath. IHOUA. Actually, no, that doesn't really work, does it?

It isn't crowded, which is a relief. That's the last thing I need right now. Jeb, who is unfortunately still with us, pulls open one of the doors, and we all pile in.

"I'm going to the bathroom," I mutter, and I break off from the train as the others follow the waitress to our table.

I weave between tables and booths of families and old couples. In the bathroom, I stare at myself in the mirror. I look as exhausted as I feel. I wonder if the others would notice if I never returned to the table; maybe I could just slip out the door of the restaurant and they'd never know.

But no. I can't just run away, like usual.

Oh, my God, I'm pathetic.

I splash my face with cold water from the faucet, determined to go out there and look like myself, like Maximum Ride, the girl who can handle anything.

I refuse, from this moment forward, to be the girl that ran away from her best friend last night, ultimately creating more distance than there _already was_.

Except maybe I don't get to choose which Max I am. Maybe I'm stuck being both.

I'm so diverse.

But, to my genuine surprise, I look no better now that I've washed my face. My eyes are still red and tired, my mouth still drooping in a permanent frown. A few strands of my tangled hair are now wet and dripping onto my shirt.

I do feel slightly less feverish, though, and for the first time since I've gotten up, I don't feel like I'm going to be sick.

Good start.

When I find the others, I stand there for a second, my heart dropping into my stomach. The only empty seat at the long table was on the edge, next to Fang.

Fang, who looks just as uncomfortable as I feel. I reluctantly sit down.

Everyone else around the table seems unaware of the tension that is hanging between Fang and I like a shield. Nudge is pulling anything metal on the table toward her, in awe of her new power. Iggy's suddenly extremely curious as to what color everything in the near vicinity of our table is. Gazzy thinks IHOP is a perfectly fine place to break out his newest favorite impression: Randy Jackson. Yes, as in, the "dawg" from American Idol, Randy Jackson.

And Angel-

"Max? What does it mean to _lead somebody on_?"

I look at her. Angel has ordered the hot chocolate, and there's a line of whipped cream on her lip. She smiles at me and wipes it away.

Her eyes flick to my right. "Sorry, Fang." And just like that, she's back to her hot chocolate.

Okay, the kids may be clueless, but Mom and Jeb now turn their attention to Fang and I, sitting as far away from each other as possible. They take in our rigid, straight forms and our refusal to look at each other and I swear, they both understand the situation completely, just like that. And if I weren't so angry I'd be blushing.

Good thing I'm angry.

Lead _him _on? How in the world have I _led him on_? It is so bogus for him to even try to pin the blame on me! It's not my fault that he's started this entire mess!

And since when have I ever been one to lead someone on? Since when have I ever been Maximum Ride, seductress?

Never. That's when.

I sigh, resting my head in my hands. When the waitress asks me what I want, I'm not even paying attention.

"Max, you want those double chocolate pancakes, don't you? I mean, they are sooo good and really yummy and chocolately. They have, like, more chocolate than pancake. You remember than one time that Iggy made chocolate chip pancakes and you ate all of them before anyone else woke up, so Fang-"

"Yeah, double chocolate pancakes," I say roughly, cutting off Nudge's cute little reminiscence. I feel all eyes on me as I hand the waitress my menu.

"Are you okay?" Gazzy asks me, sipping his glass of orange juice.

"Peachy," I breathe out, draining my glass of water because my throat is thick and it's hard to swallow.

I feel like it takes a decade for our food to get here, mostly because it is the definition of _awkward _sitting at the table. When we finally _do _get our food, the sound of Nudge's rambling and the Gasman's laughter is subdued due to the fact that they are now stuffing their faces with food.

Am I totally worked up? Yes.

Is my stomach doing weird flips as I keep remembering what happened last night? Sure.

Am I too freaked to eat?

Never.

I dig in, my pancakes calling to me from their spot on my plate. As I reach for the syrup, Nudge decides now is the _perfect _time to work on her new skill.

Just what the freaking doctor ordered.

She brings her hand up, and, experimentally, makes her mind tug on my zipper. The metal zipper of my jacket pulls me over the table diagonally toward her, not only practically pulling me onto Fang's lap but _also _causing me to knock over a glass of water on his jeans.

"Oh, my God!" Nudge squeaks, covering her mouth to keep from laughing. "_Sorry_, Fang!"

My heart is slamming in my chest as I straighten myself, then lean over Fang to reach the napkins. His hand goes for them at the same time and I accidentally grab his fingers instead of the napkin dispenser. I gasp and drop them as if they are burning hot. Quickly, my face burning, I yank napkins out of the dispenser and start patting at Fang's lap frantically, repeating a few less-than-tasteful words in my mind.

A hand curls around my wrist and I look up. My face is really, _really _close to his.

Without saying anything, he takes both my hands and puts them in my lap. Then he picks up the soaking napkins and sets them on the table and stalks off toward the bathroom.

I let out a slow, shaky breath, looking down at my plate. When I finally look up, the others have all brushed off the scene and gone back to their own conversations and food. Mom, though, shoots me a knowing glance and I turn away from her, trying to calm down.

Iggy kicks me under the table. "Hey," he say.

"I'm _fine_," I say, sounding as unfine as possible.

Fang comes back and I don't look up. I keep my eyes trained on my pancakes and I refuse to acknowledge him for the rest of breakfast -

"Can I talk to you?" he asks lowly, so low I'm sure no one else has heard it.

"No," I say quietly, shaking my head and glancing up. Everyone else is paying attention to their own pancakes, having their own conversations.

"Max," he says, his voice frustrated.

"No," I say, turning my face up to look at him. "_No_, okay? We're going to sit here, and eat, and _not _talk. About anything. Got it?"

Now everyone's attention is turning to us, so I sigh and look at him, hoping to see some kind of emotion. Some kind of _something_. But his face is blank, and I am not getting anything from him.

"Hey, Fang…" Gazzy says tentatively. "You gonna eat that toast?"

Fang looks at him, and I can't believe what he does next.

He _grins_ - just like that, he's done dealing with me and he grins at the Gasman. "Yeah. Back off, vacuum."

Despite the rejection, the Gasman smiles, too, and slurps down the rest of his third glass of juice.

Fang says nothing to me for the rest of breakfast. He brushes off the entire thing, as if he remembers nothing from the night before. As if he doesn't care that I'm hyperventilating next to him in my seat, trying to figure everything out. He totally ignores that fact that I'm almost in tears with confusion and stress and he eats the rest of his pancakes while I don't touch mine, because my appetite is long gone.

Which, I guess should be a good thing, since I don't _want _to hammer out our issues right here, in IHOP. I don't want to talk about my feelings or anything, I just want him to drop it. That's what I want, right?

And he does. He drops it and ignores me and pretends there's nothing going on. He talks to the others and puts on an act and totally ignores me, as if I'm not even here.

It should feel good that I can just focus on my food and not on the awkwardness between me and my best-friend-turned-stranger.

But, no. It doesn't feel good.

At all.

Feels pretty _bad_.

**A/N: Aw, awkward Fax phase…so traumatic. Tell me if this was decent, what you liked about it…if I should do other "hidden chapters". **


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